Love swelled in Henriette’s heart. Passion flooded her body. She undressed before the King, her flesh cooling to the touch of the air, then stood naked and ready.

“There is talk of war,” she said.

“Always.” The King’s fingers moved along the rise of her breasts. Her nipples hardened joyously.

“My husband would love to fight.”

Louis unbuttoned his shirt. “Is that what he wants?”

“He talks of nothing else. Almost.”

The King removed his shirt and trousers. Then he pulled her to himself. “If I send him to the Spanish Netherlands, he may not return.”

“A glorious death would not displease him. Or me.” His breath was on her neck, his lips an inch from her throat.

“That is my brother you are talking about,” he whispered.

“I speak it, Sire, but you think it.”

Louis stroked her hair and stared into her eyes. His gaze was strong, certain, and loving. He turned her chin up and kissed her deeply, completely, and she felt into his arms, in that moment truly and wholly his. And in that moment death was forgotten.

As Louis and Henriette clung to one another in the privacy of her apartment, the Carousel of Fabrics opened to the nobles at court. It was grand, a bright, bustling, and colorful bazaar where countless tailors displayed exquisite fabrics as well as superbly finished gowns, cloaks, capes, and trousers. Every room and corridor of the pavilion was filled with life-sized dolls modeling clothing as well as tables displaying masks, shoes, perfumes, gloves, and jewelry set with all manner of rare gems. Noble men and ladies, from the court and from a day’s ride away, were awed by the offerings. They strolled through the displays, touching, holding, and purchasing. Montcourt gathered beautiful fabrics and piled them high to carry away. Fabien wandered around, pretending to be interested in fabrics but watching the crowd, instead.

Beatrice and her daughter Sophie moved among the throng, Sophie admiring plumed hats and lace gloves, Beatrice primping her daughter to make sure she was a fine display all her own. She was greatly pleased with the admiring stares Sophie drew from the noble men.

“Men are at war,” Beatrice whispered to Sophie as Sophie held up a gold silk gown. “They use swords, but we use our beauty. But the end is the same. Conquest.”

“I want this dress,” said Sophie.

“You’ll need more than a dress. A filigree bracelet and necklace of diamonds.”

“How will we pay?”

“Let me worry about that. Your job is to bring me a king.”

There was a sudden commotion at the pavilion entrance. All heads turned to see Chevalier stride in beside Philippe, who was dressed in an exquisite ladies’ gown of scarlet and silver with rouge upon his cheeks. Noblemen and their wives went silent, uncertain of what to say. Some applauded, others glanced at each other nervously.